The Flight of Her Hands
by Falling Thunderbolt
Summary: A drifter, an assassin, and a murderer meet in a back alley. - "See you later, Red." She said it like a promise.


He could feel the press of eyes on his neck, even through the darkness; but he shrugged off the sensation with relative ease. He was used to being watched. He had been watched all his life.

His feet hit the dusty ground quietly, the leather soles of his boots padding along as he prowled. Other men in town ambled or sauntered, but if one thing could be said about Alroy, it was that he walked with purpose. Tonight, it was set to finding a killer.

Thus far, two women had been found. The sheriff was only considering one as a true murder, because the second woman had been a prostitute, and it was believed in town that she must have had it coming. Alroy didn't particularly care what she had been; what she was now was **dead. **And, to a man who had hunted all his life, it was clear that both women were killed by the same man. Not killed for necessity, or for rage, but for some cold slithering satisfaction that he couldn't understand. The man - the monster - who had done that was in his town. Alroy meant to find him.

Slipping into a side-street, Alroy breathed in relief. It was better to be in the company of the darkness and the killer than those staring eyes, although they were a marked improvement from when he had first come to town. Then, the people had glared at him on the street, and jeered. The appellation of "the Red Indian" had quickly become a favorite. The men in town thought that it was funny: A red Indian with red hair. Those jabs had quickly stopped once they found out that Alroy Hok'ee was one of the best shots with any kind of weapon in the territory, and once he had started tracking outlaws and bandits for the law on the side.

The Law. People said the word in such a way that you could hear the capital "L". Frankly, Alroy thought that 'The Law' was a joke. What kind of warriors did their job for coin alone, and only fought when it suited them? Even though these were his people by blood, Alroy found himself confused by them. Their ways were not his. Where he came from, everyone in the village would have _known _who the murderer was, for he would have been shunned and exiled by his family. The_ Diné _would never suffer such a person to live under their roofs. But here? Here, criminals could hide, and trust some person to hide them. Here in town danger could creep up on you unaware, and that set his teeth on edge.

Clenching his jaw, Alroy turned at the end of the street, entering a series of narrow alleys that marked the beginning of the town slums, where all of the recent immigrants lived. It was filled with the Irish, the Germans, the Italians, and Chinamen from the Orient, come to work on the railroad. Alroy couldn't understand why they were called Chinamen. What then, did you call a female Chinaman? He just called them Chinese instead.

Alroy Hok'ee was a man who liked for everything, even words, to have a proper place and application; where they could lie like a weapon as useful as his bow, which he now held at the ready in his hands. He also had one six shooter on each hip, but Alroy would always be most comfortable with his bow. It had been his constant companion ever since he had been a boy old enough to notch an arrow. He ran his hand over the wood lovingly, feeling the areas that had been worn smooth by years of use.

And then, from around a corner, he heard a sound. A soft sound, but enough to set off hair-trigger reflexes and send a flash of warning jolting through his body. Two large strides took him to the junction of the alleyway, arrow already stringed. In the darkness, he could make out the forms of two people, a man crushing a woman against the chipped shingles of a wooden house. He drew, feathers tickling the side of his face, just as a light gleamed and the killer staggered back from the woman with a cry of pain. Taking aim, Alroy let red fletching fly, and the bow sang. The man crumpled to the ground, arrow perfectly placed through his left eye.

Alroy stepped forward, looking as the woman hurriedly pushed herself up against the house and began straightening her clothing. Leaving her to fix her dignity, he carefully approached the corpse, a second arrow ready. Alroy knew a dead body when he saw one, but it still never hurt to be careful.

After prodding the body elicited no response, Alroy knelt down and began searching through his pockets. The man had been average looking in life, with medium brown hair and a square jaw. In death there was almost something grotesque about his normalcy. While feeling in the man's pocket, Alroy's fingers brushed up against cloth. Curious, he pulled out two swatches of fabric, and felt his blood go cold with horror and steely relief. He recognized those patterns from the bodies of the dead women. He had got his man.

Turning back to the woman, Alroy was immediately stricken by how strange she was. A mess of black hair rebelled against its constraints atop her head, and slate grey eyes scrutinized him under thin eyebrows. He was confused by her, by the high cheekbones and slightly slanted eyes that hinted of Oriental origin, but by the way she also could have been a white woman. It seemed like she had capitalized on her exoticness, with kohl rimmed eyes and a silk black dress that was slimmer than what was fashionable, with no bustle and very few underskirts.

"I suppose that I should thank you," she said, in an accent more American than his.

He tipped his head at her, continuing to silently assess. She shrugged her shoulders at his silence, and reached down to pull her dress up above her knee. From behind her back she pulled out a small knife, clenched in her right hand, and slid it into a sheath strapped to her calf.

Carefully, Alroy put the pieces together. She was a woman who made an attempt to look desirable, a woman who kept a knife on her person for protection. A woman who wandered dark alleys at night.

Never one to mince words, he asked, "Are you a whore?"

She straightened, letting her dress fall back into place. "Are you? Not many real Indians I know that work for white people."

He stiffened at the insult, blue eyes narrowing at her. If words like that had come from a man, blood would have flown. But this was a woman, and she demanded his respect, and his silence. You didn't insult a woman, ever. Women were the ones who could toss a man out of his hogan. It wasn't the same way here, where men inherited land instead, but such habits were hard to break. Besides, maybe she thought the frankness of his question rude. She couldn't understand that he had to categorize her, to understand who she was and where to put her.

"What's your name?"

"Kitty," she replied dismissively. He gave her a hard, flat look. That wasn't her real name and they both knew it.

"Jade," she relented.

"Alroy Hok'ee," he introduced himself, in the name of courtesy.

"I know who you are," she said, smiling slyly, "but it's nice to meet you anyway, Roy."

He blinked at her familiarity. Her smile became more genuine, and she teased, "Do you do this for fun every night?"

Once again, all he could do was blink at her. "What makes you think that?"

She tilted her head at him. "You always seemed so lonely. Figured you must do _something _with your nights."

Lonely. That word made the black meaning of his name rise up to meet him. _Hok'ee. _Abandoned. Always abandoned, by his birth parents who left him to die, by his adopted father to death, by his Irish uncle who had brought him to town three years ago.

Shoving the pain in a box, he replied, "Now you know my secret."

She laughed, a magical, almost malicious cackle that forced its way through her throat. "I won't tell anyone, I promise."

Gladdened by her response, he let a wry grin cross his face. Shooting her a conspiratorial look, he said, "I wasn't here if you weren't."

She raised a delicate eyebrow. "It's going to be a bit obvious that you were here," she said, gesturing towards the distinct red-fletched arrow in the murder's eye.

"If anyone has a problem with it, they can come and talk to me about it," he deadpanned.

Chortling, Jade shook her head and said, "Alroy Hok'ee, I _like_ you." She slithered past him and ran a hand through his bright hair on her way.

"See you later, Red." She said it like a promise.

Alroy turned to watch her go, but only caught a glimpse of her dark dress as it slipped around a corner. He thought about her. _Jade. _He had seen jade for sale before. It was a pretty green stone, often marbled with white and swirling colors. It suited her, for she was beautiful and unique and deceptively delicate. He had never seen her in town before, never even heard of her. Alroy wondered at how it was possible, that no one noticed this extraordinary woman who lived right under their noses. He regretted that he may never see her again. But, then again, she had said that she would see him later. Perhaps, she would find him.


End file.
